


This Is Not A Taylor Swift Song

by ariadne_odair



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Awesome Morgana, BAMF Arthur, BAMF Merlin, BAMF Morgana, I skipped Psychology revision for this :), M/M, Poor Merlin, ruining weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_odair/pseuds/ariadne_odair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin stares at her. "Morgana, this isn't a bad Taylor Swift song, I can't -"</p><p>Morgana wrinkles her nose. "Ew, Taylor Swift? I was going for that scene in Shrek. All you have to do is go in shouting "I object!"</p><p>Merlin is momentarily offended. "Wait, why am I Shrek?"</p><p>Morgana shrugs. "Don't know why you're complaining. I'm donkey."</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Not A Taylor Swift Song

"Merlin."

"Merlin."

"Merlin, you have to help me with these. Come on, I know you're into all that artistic stuff, you colour in books -"

Merlin snaps. He turns to glare at Arthur, who's stretched out like a cat on Merlin's sofa, grinning at him as he flicks through the sheets balanced on his chest.

"I don't colour in books, Arthur," Merlin bites out, tone deliberately patient, "I write them. Books, Arthur. Books with words. I know you're stuck on ones with pictures in."

Arthur mock pouts. "Hey, I'll have you know, I write with joined up letters now."

Merlin just rolls his eyes, and Arthur grins. "Come on, Merlin. You know what Vivian's like..."

And Merlin, because he's never been able to deny Arthur anything, even when they were little and he let Arthur have his salt and vinegar crisps at lunch, begins to look through colour schemes.

Colour schemes.

For Arthur's wedding.

To Vivian.

Which is a little bit of a bummer, because Merlin is helplessly, irrevocably, frustratingly in love with Arthur, and Arthur has no idea.

It doesn't help that Arthur is so bloody gorgeous. In fact, it's down right selfish. Arthur never thinks of others. How dare he be so attractive that Merlin wants to lick him all over.

Like he said, selfish.

Take now, for instance. Arthur's lying on the sofa, stretched out, lean muscles, long legs. The gentle glow from the window bathes his face in soft light, making his golden hair glint, matching golden lashes brushing his cheeks.

He's wearing red, a rich colour, making his tan stand out. Merlin always thinks he looks like royalty in that tone, always wonders how he'd look out of it -

"Merlin! I know your brain is too small to be thinking about anything important, so come on. Stimulate yourself by looking at the pretty colours."

Sometimes, it's a good thing Arthur is such a prat.

"Arthur, you can't criticise my intelligence, when you can't even pick said pretty colours," Merlin answers, pulling the sheets out of his hands. He glances down at them; there is a lot of pink. _A lot_ of pink.

Merlin mentions this, and Arthur does that awkward shuffle he always does when Vivian is mentioned, and just mumbles: "Well, she likes pink."

And that's that.

 

So, here's the thing. Vivian is a bitch.

Even Gwen, who never badmouths anyone, agrees she's "not a very nice lady," which is practically a declaration of war in Gwen's language.

She's spoilt and mouthy, and Merlin knows the only reason Arthur's marrying her, is because Uthur arranged it. And Arthur always does what Uthur says, because Uther's...well, because Uther is Uther.

However, Merlin is Arthur's best friend, which means he's not just going to the wedding, he's best man. 

He can't even get out of it, because Arthur just pouts and bats his eyelashes, and Merlin is agreeing without even realising.

And that's that.

  

 

"We could poison her," Will suggests, when Merlin moans to him that week at the pub.

 Will is always good to bitch to, because he buys the beer and then plans out extremely detailed, extremely violent plans. He slides a beer across the table to Merlin, who accepts it gratefully. They're in their usual spot, near the window, the seats with the comfy cushions.

"No," Merlin says thoughtfully, taking a sip of his beer, "She's had so much botox she's probably immune to any type of injected fluid."

Will lets out a bark of laughter, slamming his drink down on the table. "I love it when you get bitchy, Merlin," he chokes, wiping his mouth, "It's always entertaining."

Merlin wrinkles his nose. "I don't mean to, but I had to choose between fifty colours of pink today, Will. Fifty! I didn't know there was fifty!"

"I thought there was only two," Will muses, "Light pink and dark pink."

"Don't," Merlin groans, running a hand through his hair, the taste of beer sharp on his tounge, "Fuchsia, rose, cerise, coral, magenta-" 

He slumps onto the table, head thunking onto his arms. "Magenta, Will!" he moans, voice muffled, "Magenta!"

 Will pats his head comfortingly. "You know, I bet Arthur looks good in pink."

 "He does," Merlin mumbles, before he even realises what he's saying. There's a silence, and Merlin freezes. Slowly, he lifts his head to look at Will. Will's looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and pain.

"Shut up," Merlin sighs, and downs the rest of his drink.

 

_When Merlin is 14, he gets ambushed by a group of guys from school._

_It's not for any particular reason, just that he's skinny and has big ears, and likes reading, and *shock horror* is crap at football._

_So, when Josh Hussey pushes Merlin against a wall and punches him in the face, he's expecting it._

_They normally leave him alone, because Arthur glares at anyone who so much as looks at Merlin funny. It doesn't matter that Arthur's the undisputed King of the school, and Merlin is the nerd who reads at the back of class_ _._

_Arthur says it doesn't matter what people think, Merlin's his best friend, and can we please just play FIFA now, you idiot?_

_However, today, Merlin had photography club after school, and he'd waved off Arthur's concerns with a "God, Arthur, I'm not a baby," and that was that._

_Only now he's crumpled on the floor, while Josh's mates laugh at him, mocking, jeering catcalls. The gravel scrapes his skin, and he curses the fact he wore a short sleeve t-shirt. He curls even tighter, his newly gangly legs getting in the way._

_He hears the word freak._

_He hears the word fag._

_The punches and the kicks hurt, a lot. Bursts of pain flashing across his skin like stars, making him cringe and want to pull away. The words are vicious too, cutting under his skin._

_Then there's a yelp, and a voice shouting "What are you doing?", but Merlin's a little busy dealing with his kicked ribs, to pay any attention right now . It seems to go on forever, but eventually the noise stops, and then all he can hear is his breathing. It's sounds irregular, off, as if his lungs have forgotten how to work._

_A cool hand touches his shoulder. Arthur's hand._

_Merlin whimpers, a tiny sound._

_There's a sigh, then hands begin to card through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. Merlin turns into the touch, can't help it, feels Arthur smooth the ends._

_"What am I going to do with you?" Arthur murmurs, and Merlin thinks **keep** **me**._

_The next day, Josh and all his mates apologize to Merlin in the dinner hall, infront of EVERYONE._

_Merlin never gets bullied again, and Arthur doesn't leave his side all day, and Merlin falls in love as they walk down the hallway, side by side._

 

"I'm going to stab her," Merlin hisses.

Gwen tries not to laugh, and lets out this weird half sneeze/half cough.

"Sshh," she says, but it's half hearted, "She's just being a bit - pushy."

"Pushy like a tornado," Merlin mutters, and Gwen claps a hand over her mouth to stop the giggles.

They're at the bridesmaids fitting. However, Vivian seems to thinks it's the "Let's see how much drama I can make fitting". She's cried twice, big, fake baby tears, screamed once, and has demanded to be brought everything from a different fabric, to some French canapes. Which she didn't even like by the way, and threw back into the assistant's face.

It's like a bad episode of _Don't Tell The Bride_.

"No," Vivian screams, plucking at the fabric of a puce coloured frock, "I didn't ask for puce! I asked for magenta!"

Merlin, with his new appreciation for the pink colour wheel, can indeed confirm that is not magenta. But he can also confirm Vivian is a Class A cow, so, you know. Win some, loose some. 

Vivian's blond hair is stick straight down her back, and her big, pink engagement ring flashes in the light. The shop assistant looks as though she might cry.

 Vivian has very blond hair, very fake boobs, and very pink everything. She's whiny and has a dog that fits in her handbag, and purposely calls Merlin "Melvin." However, she also comes from a very rich, very distinguished family that dines with Lords, which makes her good enough in Uther's eyes.

It doesn't matter about Arthur's eyes, which are actually a really, deep blue and - and ohmygosh shut UP Merlin.

"I can't wait for Morgana to get here," Gwen whispers. She's got a pink hyancinth in her hair, but apart from that they haven't exactly got round to putting on dresses.

Gwen is one of those sunny people that try to look for the best in others, but even she hasn't found anything positive to say. She'd begged Merlin to come, because otherwise Vivian treats Gwen like some kind of servant.

Merlin really didn't want to spend his afternoon with the Queen Of The Witches, but it was that or pine over Arthur.

Not that he does that.

Much.

Either way, Gwen is a good friend of his, one from the publishers where they work, and she's so sweet Merlin couldn't leave her alone. It'd be like kicking a panda.

"What, because she'll know the difference between puce and magenta?" Merlin asks, and this time Gwen does laugh.

Vivian turns to glare at them, as if it's shameful they are not wallowing in misery and abandoning kittens.

"Melvin!" she calls in her nasal voice, waving one pink talon, "Get over here, now."

Merlin shares a glance with Gwen, then ambles over. He schools his voice into an impassive expression, one he's perfected for dealing with Vivian.

"Yes?" he asks sweetly, fake grin plastered in place.

Vivian glares at him. "This wedding is about me," she hisses, "You are lucky I even let you into the church, so stop giggling with your little friend and pay attention."

"Er, isn't this day also about Arthur?" Merlin asks, resisting the urge to strangle her with the puce dress. He shrugs innocently. "Just thought the groom might be a teeny, tiny bit crucial..."

Vivian rolls her eyes. "Don't be stupid. Arthur isn't going through all this stress,  Do you know what I'm going through? This is exhausting!"

"Well, I'm sure it's not a bundle of laughs for Arthur either!" Merlin snaps, because this woman has no right to badmouth Arthur, and Merlin's stupidly overprotective and stupidly in love, and stupidly jealous.

Vivian's eyes flash, and a cruel sneer crosses her face. She leans in close, and Merlin can smell her overpowering perfume. "Well," she hisses, "I'll just have to make it up to him on the honeymoon night."

It's just petty comebacks, but it hits Merlin in the stomach. Because he's never going to have Arthur, and now all he can see is Vivian kissing Arthur, Arthur kissing her back -

\- he can't breathe, just glares at her, as he pushes down his feelings, ones of regret and pain, and that terrible, freezing ache that keeps him up at night because he can  _never have Arthur._

The door of the shop slams open, and Morgana walks in. Morgana is Arthur's half sister, ridiculously beautiful, with flowing black hair and pale skin. She's very funny, and very clever. She and Merlin are close, due to Arthur and Merlin being best friends.

Merlin doesn't know if she  _knows_ about his slightly less-than-platonic feelings for Arthur, but if she does, she's never said.

Merlin breathes a sigh of relief, and slips over to her. Morgana hugs him, then Gwen, pointedly ignoring Vivian. "So, who has the wicked witch being terrorizing today?"

Morgana hates Vivian, almost as much as Merlin does. The only reason she's maid of honour is because Vivian has no friends. No, seriously. And the only reason Morgana agreed, is because she likes to mess with Vivian by cutting holes in all her dresses.

Morgana is a pretty cool person.

"Do you think we should start calling her Bivian?" Morgana murmurs, as Vivian scurries over, "Because she keeps calling you Melvin?"

"Go for it."

 

The "Bivian Scandal Of 2013" as Morgana calls it, is a huge success.

Vivian gets so pissed off, she kicks them all out of the shop and bans them from coming shopping with her again.

Naturally, they are all devastated.

 

_When Merlin is 15, he makes Arthur a birthday cake. Uther won't be home; he'll get his PA to buy Arthur something and he defenitley won't send a card. Merlin's not even sure where he is this time, some big business trip most likely._

_Merlin made the cake at his house, and while Arthur's finishing his homework, he heads down the kitchen, used to maneuvering around the house with ease._

_Merlin's putting the cake in Arthur's fridge - chocolate fudge, Arthur's favourite, - when Morgana walks in to grab some water._

_They're past the awkward stage of making unintelligible noises when Morgana walks into the room, all curves and sophistication, though Merlin's pretty sure it's less to do with Morgana, and more to do with the fact he wants to climb her brother like a tree._

_"Hey, Merlin," she says, smiling as she fills her glass. Merlin nods at her, carefully balancing the cake on the top shelf. Morgana notices, and raises one eyebrow, but doesn't say anything._

_"MERLIN!"_

_Arthur comes thundering down the stairs, two at a time. His hair is sticking up at the back of his head, and Merlin's heart flips slightly. Arthur notices Morgana, and rolls his eyes._

_"Hey, Morgy."_

_"Hey, Blondie."_

_Merlin grins at their banter; as an only child, it fascinates him to see their interactions. Morgana glances at Merlin slyly, then at Arthur._

_"Hey, Merlin, do you want to come see some of my Art GCSE work -"_

_Merlin's about to agree, Morgana is really good, when Arthur shoves infront of him. He can feel the heat of Arthur from here, the guy's like a freaking furnance, and the strong taut muscles of his back. Merlin's all for being his own man and that, but Beyonce was never faced with the interesting way Arthur's muscles move._

_"Piss off, Morgana," Arthur scowls, and then drags Merlin out of the kitchen._

_Merlin waves bemusedly as Morgana as they go. His insides are flipping, because Arthur's hand is in his, strong and warm, and calluosed from all the sports he does. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and curses himself for being too obvious._

_"Morgana always steals my friends."_

_"Er, right. Soo, do I get a say in this or -"_

_"NO."_

 

 

Arthur is drunk.

No,  _really drunk._

As in, he'd probaly get hitched to a girrafe and not even realise. Oh wait, that's just wishful thinking.

It's Arthur's stag do, and Arthur is drunk, and Lance is drunk, and Will is drunk, and Merlin is sad.

He's not drinking, designated driver, but it doesn't matter. His insides are writhing as he gulps back his water, hands clenched under the table. He can't believe this is happening, that Arthur is going to marry Vivian.

It's that Merlin never thought Arthur would sweep him off his feet like a bad Taylor Swift song - though " _she wears short skirts"_ does come to mind - it's just he can't believe Arthur will be...not his.

Arthur is brave, and loyal, and funny, and a bit of a prat, and Merlin  _loves him_ so much it  _hurts._

He's watched Arthur go home with people, kiss people, even hug people, and he's jealous and angry and utterly miserable. It settles as a heavy weight behind his breast bone, flaring every time he sees Arthur with someone else, like a bruise that's being pressed down on. 

Merlin loves Arthur but he can't ever have him.

Or maybe he can, because that's when Arthur flings himself onto Merlin's lap. 

Arthur is very drunk, and he smells like tequila. He's a warm weight on Merlin's lap, blue eyes glassy, blond hair mussed. He grins at Merlin, perfectly white teeth  _and nuzzles his neck._

For a moment Merlin revels in the smell of Arthur, a bit like cinnamon and musk and alcohol, the steady weight of him, warm and thrilling, his soft hair tickling Merlin's ear, before he shoves him unceremoniously onto the other seat. He's not sure if Arthur's intoxicated enough that he won't notice Merlin's already growing erection.

Jesus, he only sat in Merlin's lap for a second, and he's already hard.

Like he said,  _selfish._

"Arthur," Merlin sighs, "Come on, we're going to get some fresh air."

Merlin grabs his arm and drags him out. It takes about half an hour, because Arthur keeps trying to wriggle away. Then he tries to bring people with them, and Merlin has to dispel a congo line just to get through the door.

The cold air is like a benediction after the sweaty, pounding of the club, and Merlin breathes in. His sits on the brick steps outside the club, the rough material hard through his trousers. Arthur lets out a little whine, then collapses, head in Merlin's lap.

Someone up there reaallly hates him.

Arthur wiggles a little, looking up at him with blown pupils. "Pet my hair," he orders, trying for his usual authoritive tone, but he slurs the "p" slightly.

Merlin sighs, then begins to card his hands through his hair. He teases the blond strands, making a tiny mohican, but Arthur slaps his hand away. Well, his hand to eye co-ordiantion isn't brilliant at the moment, so it sort of flops helplessly in the air for a bit.

"This is a great Stag Do!" Arthur beams, kicking his feet up and down on the bricks.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh," Arthur nods, "Really great. Greeaaattt. Really great. Not like cheese. Grating cheese. Like great. As in good."

Merlin bites his lip to keep from laughing. "Right, Arthur. Like really good."

Arthur nods gravely, patting Merlin's face with one fumbling hand. He snuggles more into Merlin's lap. "Not like this wedding."

Merlin freezes, hand stop its comforting rythmn. Arthur whines, butting into his hand like a cat, so Merlin continues, working on autopilot.

"What did you say?" he asks, voice cracking, heart thumping in his chest. Arthur yawns, rubbing his eyes like a small child.

"Not like this wedding," he mumbles, "I don't even want to get married. But father says I have to. You have to do what father says." He shakes his head, eyes big and sad. "Or father gets mad."

Merlin sighs, heart aching at the words. "Arthur, are you saying you don't want to get married?"

Arthur is closing his eyes, almost asleep. Merlin flicks his forehead with one finger; it's cruel, but he needs to know, he has to know what Arthur's reply is. "Arthur! Arthur! Do you want to marry Vivian?"

Arthur shakes his head, and Merlin's stomach lurches, heart beating wildly. "Nope, she's mean. And I don't like her hair." He grins goofily, then reaches out to pat Merlin's cheek, fingers loosely drifitng over Merlin's skin. "Not like you."

And then Arthur falls asleep.

Merlin sits there, motionless, hand still buried in Arthur's hair, until Lance comes out, laughing at the state of him, and offers to help carry Arthur to the car.

 

 

"What the hell did I drink last night?"

Merlin looks up as Arthur comes into the kitchen. He'd stayed at Merlin's, tucked up on the sofa because Arthur in Merlin's bed was more temptation than he could bear.

Merlin's heart flips at the sight of him, messy golden hair, tight grey t-shirt that shows off his muscles, only boxers - only boxers that shows of the gold hair on his legs, long corded muscles -

"Merlin, please tell me you made something edible. How am I supposed to survive my hangover with this Tofu crap? And don't tell me it wasn't Morgana that put this in here, I know it was."

Wordlessly, Merlin slips a plate of pancakes in front of him, slipping into the other chair. His throat is tight, like there's something blocking it.

He didn't sleep last night, tossing and turning, the words  _not like you_ playing over and over again in his head. He feels as they're tatooed onto his skin, enscribed in his bones, those three words visible for the whole world to see.

"Arthur, do you-" he pauses, as Arthur lifts his eyes to meet him, slightly red rimmed from the night before, "Did you - do you remember any of it?"

Arthur lets out a bark of laughter, and Merlin's heart sinks down, down, down, until he's pretty sure it's hit the floor. "Don't remember any of it, mate! Not an inch...maybe a bit of dancing, but nothing after."

"Right," Merlin murmurs, and he must be imagining the forced tone when Arthur goes: "Not long to the wedding."

Merlin nods non-commitedly, trying not to cry, trying to banish the familiar burning behind his eyes. Arthur pours tons of syrup on his pancakes - he has a ridiculous sweet tooth - then glances up.

"Could you get me a drink?"

"Not your servant," Merlin replies automatically, taking a sip of his own tea.

"Yeah, but you wish you were," Arthur says flippantly, and Merlin chokes because it's not like he hasn't imagined  _that_ little fantasy.

 

In the end, he can't do it.

He's a huge, huge coward  _but he can't do it._

Suddenly, it's a few days before the wedding, a few days, a  _few days,_ and Merlin just panicks. 

It goes something like this.

Merlin's going through his closet, looking for some shoes to wear to the wedding. Yeah, that definitely should have been sorted a few months ago, but he, Gwen and Morgana have been ignoring Vivian religiously, and he's bad with details anyway.

Maybe it's psychological. Like his last act of rebellion. Merlin Emrys. Rebel with out a cause or a decent pair of shoes.

Anyway, he's searching through his wadrobe, when he sees it: The Red Scarf.

 

_9 Months Before_

_"How can you drink that?"_

_Merlin rolls his eyes. "I like tea. I like flavoured tea. Tea if good. Just because you like your decaf-no soy-venti-caf-brazillian whip-caffuchino latte hybrid."_

_He and Arthur are sitting in the booth of their favourite cafe. It's called The Dragon, which is why Arthur likes it, and run by this crazy old man called Kilgharrah. He gives you free fortune cookies with your drinks, which is bit weird, but he makes the greatest cheese on toast in town, so they put up with it._

_"You can't even pronounce it, you uneducated peasent," Arthur snorts, unwrapping his crimson scarf from around his neck, and tossing it onto the seat next to Merlin. "Look, I wanted to talk to you about something."_

_Merlin's got a barb ready, but when he looks up Arthur looks grave, so he swallows the retort. Arthur takes a deep breath, then says: "I'm getting married."_

_It's like getting punched in the stomach. Repeatedly. By a troll._

_It's as if all the air has gone from the room, and Merlin can't hear, can't see, can't do anything. His fist clench spasmodically, fisting in an unknown material by his side._

_"To, Vivian?" he says finally, and his voice doesn't sound his own. Arthur glares at him, and his face is pinched, eyes dark, and lips pursed._

_"Yes, to Vivian, Merlin," Arthur snaps, ears turning red, "We've being dating for a while. It's a great - I'm, I'm happy. To do this."_

_Merlin nods, and his chest feels hollow, as if Vivian ripped out his heart and stamped on it with her stupid pointy shoes. He swallows, can't quite do it, and takes a sip of tea. It's flavoured, but he couldn't say what._

_Merlin's not sure he could say anything, right now._

_"Great," he says finally, and is thankful his voice doesn't tremble. "How did you propose?"_

_Arthur looks away. Merlin can see his reflection in the window, the reflected profile. "Uth - father, father hosted a - a dinner. I - I proposed them."_

_There's so much wrong with that statement, and Merlin wants to scream, wants to throw something, wants to smash that stupid window so Arthur will look at him._

_He doesn't. He doesn't do anything. He keeps clenching the soft material beneath his fingers, twisting it round and round._

_When he leaves, he accidentally takes the scarf with him, as if it's the one thing keeping him tethered._

_And that's that._

_  
_ He's staring at the scarf, the stupid scarf that he kept, even though he realised his mistake as soon as he got back. He didn't give it back, just tucked it away, and even Merlin can see that's a gesture of how stupidly in love with the guy he is.

And he can't do this.

He can't go to the wedding, and see Arthur, and see him leave, see him marry Vivian -

\- so.

-so.

-so he won't do it.

Merlin pauses, looking down at the crumpled material in his hands. He won't go. He won't go to the wedding. 

If Merlin was a better person, he would stay. He would be happy for Arthur, and reasure him. Smooth out his lapels, tell (lie) about how beautiful Vivian is, give an embarrassing speech which Uther would corner him about later.

But he's not that good. And he can't do that. He  _can't._

Elation rushes through him, a sudden heady rush of relief, dizzingly, unlocking his frozen muscles. His body works almost by his own accord, throwing clothes into a suitcase.

His mate Gwaine has a summer house, and he's always offering it to Merlin. Merlin introduced him to his future wife, and Gwaine's swore that Merlin is a saint, and a miracle worker, and can use it whenever he likes.

Merlin's never taken up the offer, but this is a special circumstance.

He finishes the packing, then glances at the calender. It's two days before the wedding, he'll need an excuse. He may be running, but he's got to give Arthur some notification. It just doesn't have to be the truthful one.

He quickly pulls up Arthur's number on his battered phone. He ignores the contact photo - Arthur wrapped in the red scarf, actually, talk about subliminal messages - and drafts a message.

_Arthur, I -_

_Arthur, it's Merlin -_

_I can't -_

_I lo-_

_VIVIAN'S A BITCH_

Merlin smiles ruefully at the last one, rubbing a hand through his hair. He wanders over to his bed, slumping down on it. He reaches for the red scarf, curling around his fingers.

_Arthur,_

_My Uncle Gauis is ill. I'm going to go look after him for a bit. I'm really sorry, but I'll miss the wedding -_

_  
_ It's halfway through this he realises he's crying. The screen infront of him blurs, as cool liquid travels down his cheek. He rubs his eyes furiously, and carrys on.

_\- but I know you'll be fine. You can show me all the photos when I get back!_

He can't bring himself to put good luck. 

_Merlin_

_  
_ He presses send before he can stop himself, then turns his phone off.

He sits on his bed for a moment. It's getting late, the sky outside streaked with pink and blue, and he rubs his eyes again. He doesn't let himself think about Arthur, pushes those feelings down and away, hiding them under layers and layers and layers.

When he does stand up, he pushes the phone under his pillow and grabs his suitcase. He pauses at the edge of the room, then runs back in and grabs the scarf.

 

 

The night before the wedding, Merlin gets absolutely hammered. He drinks all of Gwaine's wine collection before 9PM, and then spends the night crying at Sex and The City, and eating 5 tubs of Ben and Jerrry's.

He doesn't remember passing out, but when he wakes, his head feels as if he's ran into a brick wall, and someone is slamming at the front door. 

It sounds like someone is drilling next to his head, and Merlin groans. Opening his eyes, he blinks at the harsh light. His mouth tastes likes cloth, and there's ice cream dried on his stomach. Merlin has almost convinced himself it's a hallucination, when the banging starts again. 

He stumbles to his feet, bracing himself against the sofa for balance. He glances at the clock, it's only 9AM. He pulls himself across the floor, swearing when he walks into the coffee tables, and opens the door.

Morgana is there.

Merlin has seen the final bridesmaid dresses, as Arthur has showed him. They'd looked like giant, strawberry meringues, complete with bows and ribbons and laces. Merlin was pretty sure Morgana has made a voodoo doll of Vivian for that one.

The wedding starts at 11, and not only is Morgana not getting ready, she's not exactly in her dress either.

She's wearing tight black jeans, and a dark t-shirt. She's pulled back her in with a bandana and has two green camoflage stripes painted across her faces. She looks like a warrior queen, or maybe a pirate.

"Hello, Merlin."

"What are you doing here?" Merlin asks. He's aware of the ice cream on his stomach, and he's pretty sure there's some in his hair too. Morgana has this scary look in her eye, and she's advancing forward.

"Do you know, what Vivian wanted me to do for the wedding, Merlin?" she asks softly, and, yep, Merlin's terrified.

"Er, no?"

"She wanted me to dye me hair pink. Pink, Merlin."

"Oh. Er. Right?"

"And do you know what else, Merlin? I've spent the last two days watching  _Love, Actually **15**_ times because Arthur is moping!

Merlin's pretty sure his mouth is hanging open. "I don't -"

Morgana cuts him off. "He keeps  _whining, all the time."_ She puts on a high pitched voice. " _Oh, do you think Merlin's okay? Is Merlin okay? Where's Merlin? Is Gauis going to die? Boo hoo hoo, I'm going to ship myself over to Merlin's and CRAWL UP HIS ASSHOLE!"_

She pauses. "No offence."

"None taken."

Morgana takes a deep breath, fixing Merlin with big green eyes. "Merlin," she says seriously, "I'm here to stage an intervention. You are going to march to that church, and stop Arthur marrying that troll."

Merlin gapes at her. He blinks a couple of times, even pinches his side to make sure. "Morgana," he says slowly, "You can't be serious. I can't- I can't just go in there and stop the wedding."

Morgana glares at him. It is very scary. "Do you love my brother?"

The anwser comes easier than breathing. "Yes."

Morgana beams at him, face lit up with happiness. "Then that's settled! Get cleaned up, we have a wedding to stop. I'm not having Vivian as my sister-in-law. Can you imagine it? If she was in Harry Potter, she'd definitely be a kill-all-the-mudbloods type."

Merlin feels weak, curiously light, as if all his bones can shatter with one push. He has to force the words out. "Morgana, this isn't a bad Taylor Swift song, I can't -"

Morgana wrinkles her nose. "Ew, Taylor Swift, really? I was going for that scene in Shrek. All you have to do is go in shouting 'I object!'"

Merlin is momentarily distracted. "Wait, why am I Shrek?"

Mrogana shrugs. "Don't see why you're complaining. I'm donkey. Now, come on. Time to fight for your man."

Merlin gazes at her open, happy face. She's so confident and strong, and he...he's sick of not being able to get what he wants. He's only going to get this chance once, this is his last shot. He has to go through with it.

Adrenalin begins to flood him, bubbling in his veins. This is his only chance, and he's going to go for it. He's going to fight for Arthur.

"Right," he says, pushing himself up, trembling slightly. "Let's do this."

A bit of Raspberry Ripple drips out of his hair and onto the floor.

"Er, after a shower."

 

Merlin doesn't remember the shower. He doesn't rememer Morgana shoving him into some clean jeans and a t-shirt, drying his hair and fluffing it up. He remembers grabbing the scarf, slinging it around his neck at the last second.

He doesn't remember the driving here, Morgana squeezing into his crap car, until he pulls up and suddenly he's outside the church.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the church is magnificent, and Merlin feels as though he's going to be sick.

The giant oak doors loom before him. They are defenitley judging him. Stupid judgemental doors.

Stupid church. Stupid wedding. Stupid Vivian.

(Merlin is feeling very belligerent at this point.)

"Merlin," Morgana whispers, climbing out the car. She still has army paint streaked on her cheeks. "You can does this."

Merlin stares at her, heart beating like a jack rabbit, is that how that stupid expression goes?, who knows, who cares, ohmygosh he's going to crash a wedding -

"Merlin," Morgana says again, "Vivian is already in there, you have to go now!"

She's glancing at him anxiously, and she grabs his wrist pulling him, but Merlin pushes her away.

There's dizzy spots in front of his eyes, and he closes them for a second. "Morgana, I don't know if I -"

"Oh, for the love of God!" Morgana snaps, and she yanks his hand.

Shoving open the doors she shouts: "I object!"

There's a collective gasp from the audience. Morgana pauses. "Well, he objects. I'm just his back up support."

And if Merlin's life hadn't been a Taylor Swift song, it certainly is now.

Everyone is staring. Rows upon rows of shocked faces, people from both sides ogling him, some standing up.

He sees Gwen, her face a mask of shock, in that disgusting pink dress. He sees Uther, distinguished in black and white, looking as though he's going to hit him.

Merlin gulps, and his gaze travels to Vivian. She's in a white meringue, her hair teased into a giant mushroom cloud. Her face is turning puce.

Not magenta. Puce.

Then, finally, Merlin looks to Arthur.

He takes Merlin's breath away. He's in a black and white suit, tailored perfectly, showing off his broad back and strong muscles. His golden hair glints, perfectly combed, and his blue eyes are opened wide in astonishment.

He looks beautiful and the little ache behind Merlin's breastbone flutters.

It's as there's only them, no one else, just him and Arthur, and that aisle that stretches miles between them.

"Don't marry her," he says, and his voice carries, echoes in the rafters.

"Don't marry her," he repeats, and then those three words tumble out.

"I love you."

Then it's as though a crescendo is building. There's a beating in his ears, and Vivian's screaming, and Uther's gesturing, and Arthur's running.

He's pushed off the steps, running straight for him, and Merlin is preparing to get punched, and Arthur -

-kisses him.

Warm, soft lips crash into his. Arthur's hands are tangled in Merlin's hair, yanking his head forward. He licks into Merlin's mouth, tounge hot and wet, the kiss fevered and desperate.

Merlin kisses back blindly, biting down on Arthur's bottom lip, knocking their hips together, pushing them as close as possible. Arthur lets out a grin, as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

When they pull apart, Arthur's lip are red and spit slicked, and his hair is a mess. His pupils are blown, and Merlin's still clutching the front of Arthur's suit.

Arthur lets out this little hiccuping breath, and manages: "For once, Merlin, you have great timing."

His voice is absolutely  _wrecked,_ and he's grinning madly, whole face lit up.

Merlin's about to reply, though he has no idea what, because he can't stop smiling, his insides are going crazy, and he feels so good-

"What is going on!"

It's Vivian, and she's screaming the words. Her bouquet is on the floor, and it's flattened. She waddles down the aisle, hitching up her dress.

"The wedding's off," Arthur shrugs coolly, with all the arrogance Merlin hates, only now it's directed at Vivian.

"No!" Uther roars, and he's striding down the aisle too, eyes flashing dangerously, "Arthur, what are you doing -"

Arthur grabs Merlin's hand, tugs him closer to him, arm wrapped protectively around Merlin's waist.

"I'm not marrying Vivian," Arthur spits, "I only agreed because you pushed me, and I didn't want to let you down. Truth is, I've been in love with Merlin Emrys since I was 14, and if I'm marrying anyone, it's him!"

Merlin would be worried about Uther's heart right now, but all he can do is gape at Arthur.

"What?"

Arthur frowns, looking at him. "The day you were beat up by those bullies. Honestly, Merlin, you're so -"

Merlin will never found exactly what he is, because that's when he throws himself into Arthur's arms, and kisses him.

It's a very long kiss.

When they break apart, Uther's stormed out, Morgana's punched Vivian, and Gwen is hugging him excitedly.

Merlin still has his arms around Arthur, and Arthur's hands are cupping his face gently, stroking his cheek.

"So, weddings," Merlin murmurs, as Morgana bear hugs Gwen.

"Hmm," Arthur replys, kissing the underside of Merlin's jaw, "A bit of a hassle."

"Says the idiot who wanted to marry _Vivian,"_ Merlin scoffs, arching his neck a bit, so Arthur can kiss the skin there. Morgana is now hugging the vicar.

Arthur pulls back, and glares at him.

"Shut up, Merlin" he says, and kisses him quiet.

He quite likes weddings, Merlin thinks, as Arthur's tounge does something particularly interesting, but crashing them is even better.

 

 

_"We are never ever ever, getting back together! Weeee, are never ever-"_

"What the fuck," Arthur groans, from where he's plastered against Merlin's back, "Is that?"

Merlin slams his hand down on the phone, cutting out the song.

"Morgana set it as my alarm," he mumbles, pressing back against Arthur's chest. Arthur's arms tug him close, bare skin warm, hot breath tickling the back of Merlin's neck.

"Why?" Arthur mumbles, dropping a kiss on Merlin's head, already slipping back into sleep. "Love you."

"Because my life's a Taylor Swift song," Merlin mumurs, "Love you too."

"Right," Arthur yawns, with the blind trust of someone half asleep, "I hate Taylor Swift."

Merlin hears Arthur's breathing even, arms tightening around Merlin, and Merlin falls asleep smiling.


End file.
